Absolution in Vein
by moirae
Summary: UNFINISHED! Set in season five before "Crush". Buffy wrestles with inexplicable dreams while trapped with Spike. Includes an unusual Biblical subplot- so don't read if sacrilege offends you.
1. Of Myths and Martyrs

Absolution in Vein  
By Moirae  
  
  
E-mail: moirae_13@hotmail.com  
Rating: R  
Disclaimer: In Joss we trust. They don't belong to me. Please don't sue.  
Spoilers: Season 5, post "Blood Ties." Riley is gone, but Spike hasn't made any admissions of love to Buffy.  
Description: B/S Buffy wrestles with inexplicable dreams while she and Spike are trapped together.  
Textual Notes: In Christian mythology, "Mary Magdalen" was a prostitute that Jesus saved from damnation. She was present at the crucifixion and she was the first to see the risen Christ. The "Governor" mentioned in this story is Pontius Pilate, the Roman official who sentences Jesus to death. "Yeshua" is how Jesus would have heard his name pronounced. "Golgotha" is the site of Christ's crucifixion.  
Feedback: Would love it!  
  
Authors Note: I have been assaulted by the myth of Mary Magdalen and she's making me write this. I intend no offence and admit I've taken some liberties with biblical texts, but I find that every story has more than one voice, and Magdalen hasn't had her say, yet. ***The Magdalen scene may not make sense at the moment, but believe me, it will all tie in.***  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 1: Of Myths and Martyrs  
  
  
~This is the cup of my blood...  
  
This is the sign of the new and everlasting covenant...  
  
Take this, all of you, drink from it...~  
  
  
The midday sun blazes down on Jerusalem square, drawing frustrated curses and rivulets of sweat from the mass of humanity gathered there. A restless murmur rises from the crowd as the hours wear on and still the chalky white balcony shows no signs of life. Amid the throng of people, a figure waits and watches, an unwelcome prickle of fear slowly crawling up her neck.  
  
As each minute of quiet anticipation passes, her dread swells. The stench of the crowd assaults her nostrils and their anxious twittering fills her ears. She turns her focus to the gaping, black corridor of the palace, imagining the stoic governor emerge from its depths like Hades from the Netherworld--as if willing it could make it so--but the shadowy hall remains empty in an open-mouthed sneer.  
  
Her reverie is disturbed by the shrill scream of a child, and she searches the crowd to find a heat-stricken infant crying in the arms of its mother, the woman too captivated by the day's bloody prospects to notice the pleas of her own issue. With this heartless display, the last of her control is shattered, and she is assailed by the urge to run, screaming, to the foot of the balcony, demanding an answer--*whatever answer* the governor has to offer--willing to face the worst if only this impotent waiting will be over. If only she will know.  
  
And with the speed of thought, her prayer is granted. From out of the shadowed archway of his palace, a regal figure steps into the blinding spring sun to greet the expectant eyes of the crowd.  
  
"Yeshua of Galilee shall be crucified."  
  
A roar bursts from the rabble--the carnal growls of satisfaction and hollow cries of despair mingle indeterminably and spiral as one into the desert air. The crowd has been answered: another skull will be sacrificed to Golgotha today. From the back of the mob, the woman watches in stunned silence.  
  
Deep inside the palace, beneath stories of stone and dirt, a lean man in tattered dress waits. Death will come to him soon--he knows he should feel something about that fact, but his soul is silent. She can feel him there, knows the quiet contemplation of his mind. He calls to her. They are bound now--body and soul--forever. Bound by blood.  
  
Soon she will watch him die. It is her part to play. Whore. Lover. Disciple. She is all and none. And so much more now--his Magdalen, bound by blood.  
  
  
~~~~~  
  
  
"Slayer."  
  
Buffy woke with a start. The ground beneath her was cold and hard. She searched the darkness for the familiar voice, but the scene presented nothing but the jagged walls of a cave. As she lifted herself on one hand, a sudden painful throb wracked her head.  
  
"Owww..." She reached her hand up to the back of her skull and felt the telltale warm, sticky ooze coat her fingers.  
  
"Bit of a nasty blow you took there." The figure stepped into her line of sight and eyed her carefully. "You alright?"  
  
"You mean besides the bleeding head wound?" she said, getting up to her feet and scanning her surroundings. "Yeah, I'm just peachy, Spike." She'd heal.  
  
He eyed her fingers hungrily. "I could take care of that for you, luv. Wouldn't want all that blood to go to waste." His eyes twinkled in a warm smile, betraying the predatory smirk of his lips.  
  
"Come near me fang-boy and you'll learn the real meaning of the word 'neutered.'" She circled the large cavern to examine it closer. It was about forty square feet with a high, arched roof. A few thread-like  
streams of sunlight filtered in through thin cracks in the cave's ceiling, which Spike was taking care to avoid.  
  
"Ouch, Slayer. No need to bring up a bloke's weak points."  
  
Her voice twinkle with mirth. "You're probably right. It could take days to get through a list like that."  
  
In one corner, what looked like the beginnings of a tunnel jutted out a few feet, abruptly ending in a smooth stone face. As far as she could tell, there was no exit.  
  
"Well, if we're talking 'bout weak points--"  
  
Buffy cut him off suddenly. "Spike, where are we? How did we get here?"  
  
He paused a second.  
  
"Right. Straight business then." Buffy caught the irritated strain in the blond vampire's voice and turned to face him. She studied him carefully, but found nothing unusual in his manner as he leaned against the opposite wall and distractedly lit a cigarette.  
  
Inhaling deeply, he began. "Well, where would you like me to start? The part where you get your arse whipped by that Glory bitch? The part where I rescue you from certain death and zip into this cave to escape the morning's happy little rays? Or the part where we get trapped in here by said bitch while you're taking a quiet nappy?"  
  
"Trapped?" she choked the word out. "Does anyone know where we are?"  
  
"Now how would I know that? We're sorta in the same boat here, ducks." He took another long drag on the cigarette and leveled his gaze at her. "Did the Watcher tell you to go hunt for that fashion mistake all by your lonesome last night, or was that your own brilliant plan?"  
  
Buffy turned away from him and began a more extensive search for an opening in the cave. "I don't need you to tell me how to do my job, Spike."  
  
"Fine. I'll just keep *doing it for you*. Seems a bloke can't turn around these days but he runs into the little Slayer all needy and in trouble." Buffy tensed almost imperceptibly. He grinned. Vamp vision did have its advantages. He continued, arching a sculpted eyebrow, "Or were you just *pretending* to be beaten to a bloody pulp last night so I could come to your rescue?"  
  
A sharp CRACK! echoed through the cavern as Buffy's fist connected with a stone wall. "Spike! This is *so* not helping!  
  
  
~~~~~  
  
  
One hour, two packs of cigarettes, and three arguments later, the duo gave up their search for a way out. Glory had apparently blocked the only entrance to the cave with a very large boulder. The vampire and the slayer had fought a losing battle against the offending obstruction and after depleting all reserves of strength, had grudgingly given up their efforts to move it.  
  
"What I don't understand is how the hell that twit found a bleeding boulder in the first place! It's not like they're just sitting around in abandoned boulder lots in Sunnydale!" Spike paced the floor in a barely controlled rage. Trapped for too long in this stone coffin with the Slayer, he needed some air. And a bit more space, thank you very much. Her heartbeat was singing like a siren to his demon. And her scent Oh, Hell! her scent was intoxicating. She radiated cherry trees and warm blood...  
  
Sweet and metallic.  
  
Innocent and perverse.   
  
A paradox--just like Buffy. The young woman across from him was completely unaware of the disharmony between her holier-than-thou-attitude and vicious, homicidal calling. The Saint and the Slayer, Martyr and Murderer. Sure, she was fighting the good fight for light and justice, but Spike knew full well that those who grapple with darkness must also embrace the shadows. Yes, Buffy was a walking contradiction.  
  
So what does that make you, mate?   
  
A bloody ponce. He had to admit that over the past year, he had been making a pretty good show of righteousness himself. Helping the Scoobies. Killing his own kind. And he had no soul to blame for it. It all left a sick taste in his mouth. Worse than my bloody Sire. He drowned the thought with the lighting of another cigarette and continued to pace.   
  
Buffy was entranced. Smoke trailed behind Spike's form and wispy clouds lingered as he traversed the cavern and returned, cutting a path through them.  
  
He prowled with an animal's grace. Grace that only another predator--or perhaps a victim--could truly admire. The cool, steady stride; the utter focus on his destination (even if it was just length of this dank hole); the waves of pure energy rippling off him...  
  
Okay. Gotta get out of here.   
  
Buffy scolded herself for the admiration she was lavishing on her *demon of the night* companion and attempted to break the spell.  
  
"Spike, you're making me dizzy. Stop acting like some hyperactive infant and just sit down." Her voice was harsh, but it didn't arrest her appraisal of his predatory gait.  
  
Spike spit the words out as he came to an abrupt stop. "Fine. I'll sit. But let's just remember who the infant is around here, girlie." He crouched down beside her, trying to place the exact moment he had become the slayer's lap dog. The Big Bad, William-the-fucking-Bloody, bowing to the slayer's command. Dru was right. I have gone soft. And here she is, smelling so good, pouting and watching me with those big doe eyes...   
  
Bloody Fucking Christ!   
  
He almost stood up to begin his pacing again, but Buffy's voice halted him.  
  
"We need to come up with a plan."  
  
Now that was funny. He almost laughed. Spike searched her face to make sure he had heard correctly. "And what do you propose we do, my little trapped one? Chew our way out through the stone?"  
  
"Look, I know it seems like we don't have any options, but I can't just sit here and wait for the cavalry to come. For all I know, Giles and the others have no idea where we are, Glory has Dawn right now, and the world is going to end while we're in here playing prisoner. I need to *do* something." She had never felt this powerless before. Give her a pack of vampires, a demonic mayor--Hell--even a soulless ex, and she could handle it. But this was too much. She couldn't fight anything. All her strength amounted to nothing here.  
  
He read the frustration in her eyes and understood. She was The Slayer--hunter of demons, champion of the helpless and all that. Not the prey. Not the victim. Better than anyone, Spike understood the frustration of feeling trapped and powerless.  
  
He nodded silently.  
  
"Right. Well, let's see what we've got..." He stood from his crouch and pulled her up with him. Her breath hitched with the feel of his hands around hers, but he broke from her quickly and she regained control of her aberrant senses. He wandered off, the ghost of his feral scent left lingering as he circled the perimeter of the cave. "You got any tools on you at all? Something we could dig with?"  
  
Her hands brushed over her bottom and thighs as clouds of dust leapt in frenzied spirals from her clothes. "You mean the pick ax I carry in my purse? Sorry, Spike, I must have left it at home."  
  
"Hey, you're the one who wanted to bloody *do* something. I'm just trying to think. We need to take stock of what we have to see what might be of use to us."  
  
The sincerity of his voice halted Buffy's hands. She looked into the pale vampire's face and noted that all cocksure and irony had drained from his countenance. It was such a peculiar expression, she wasn't sure what to make of it.  
  
"I'm sorry, Spike," she began hesitantly. "You're right." Her glossy mouth turned up in a tentative crescent--the closest thing to a 'peace offering' she could muster.  
  
His face eclipsed as he read the remorse in her eyes. Turning quickly, he blurted, "It's just I don't fancy spending the rest of my undead life stuck in this hole with you."  
  
The crescent fell. Buffy dug her hands into the pockets of her 'slaying pants'--a pair of loose khakis--and pulled out the contents. Her arctic voice drew a shiver down his spine.  
  
"Don't worry. The feeling's mutual."  
  
Spike silently cursed himself. He didn't mean to hurt her. Things were just easier this way. Damage. Destroy. Simple concepts. Affection and reciprocal esteem opened doors that were way too complicated for them both. Besides, this was their game--the fight for dominance and show of contempt--and they had been playing for so long now, he wasn't sure he could quit even if he wanted to.  
  
Spike avoided her gaze and ran his eyes up the side of a jagged wall, searching for any sign of an outlet or weak spot in the stone. The ceiling was obviously thinner than the cavern's sides, but it towered out of their reach. Nothing.  
  
"Well, show and tell time, luv. Whatcha got?"  
  
Her voice was devoid of emotion as she listed the items she found on herself--no venomous inflection or sarcastic timbre to be marked at all.  
  
It was intensely disturbing.  
  
"House keys. Wrist watch. Nail file. College ID," she concluded. "You?"  
  
Good. Nothing sharp, pointy and wooden. It was a little comfort to him that at least she couldn't stake him. Though he would have to watch out for that nail file...  
  
Spike rummaged the pockets of his clothes and gave her an account of his findings. "Cigarettes. Zippo. Pocket knife. 'Misfits' cassette. Pet rock, Ziggy. Bus station locker key. Ticket stub from 'Dead Kennedy's' show... And pocket lint."  
  
Buffy pocketed her belongings and distractedly raised her hand into a stream of dimming sunlight, watching it tremble on her flesh. Her eyes followed it to the top of the cave and she let out a prolonged sigh.  
  
"Great. Maybe we can make a modern art installation: 'Useless Artifacts of a Vamp and a Slayer.' They'll find it among our withered remains." She shifted forward and felt the sliver of light caress her face. Her eyes closed and the ray washed over them, blazing red beneath her eyelids.  
  
"Don't let's talk of withering, luv. I've seen a few starved vamps in my day and it's not a pretty sight. Give Manson nightmares, it would." He watched her play under the light, her hair shimmering gold as it coupled with sun. Without warning, Drusilla crept into his mind. His mad, dark princess playing under the stars. Buffy had a bit of that madness in her. The life she lead--torn from childhood and thrust into duty at age fifteen, fighting demons and saving a thankless world every day of her life, seeing her imminent death in the face of each nasty that attacked her--that would drive anyone to the edge of sanity.  
  
Slowly her head dropped. Sad eyes leveled with his as she stepped out of the stray beam. "This is hopeless, isn't it?"  
  
Spike groaned inwardly at the defeat he saw in her expression. With renewed determination, he set to finding a way out, desperately needing to banish the beaten look that darkened her features. "No way, luv. We've got some useful stuff here. See, the keys and the pocket knife could be used to scrape away a hole in the soil under the boulder," he fumbled. "And the lighter, yeah...that could be used to--"  
  
"Light the rocks on fire and smoke them?"  
  
Spike gaped. Then, laughter roared through the cavern.   
  
It really was too absurd.  
  
First, only the rolling chuckle of the lone vamp could be heard, but soon the slayer joined in, and as suddenly as she had gone, Spike's bright-eyed Buffy returned. Spike idly wondered when he had started to think of her in the possessive, but let the thought pass as her brilliant smile greeted him for the first time since they had found themselves in this god awful place.  
  
  
  
~~~~~  
  
  
Spike made a vigil of her sleep. His silent appraisal of her form--a benediction. Only the black shroud of night offered him security enough to worship her as he did now, to let his eyes travel the avenues of her body, paying homage to every dip and curve, every sleek line and shadowy hollow. The ritual was familiar--but the situation was decidedly not. Countless nights before--when he had been driven from the solitude of his crypt to seek out her sleeping form--his reverie had been removed, severed by a wall of glass, the object of his devotion tucked safely in her own bed. Tonight he did not watch her from the wrong side of a window; tonight she had no home to shelter her.  
  
Curled on his coal duster across the room, she almost looked vulnerable. Here she was no untouchable specter, no dream. Here no walls prevented him from drowning in her languid heartbeat and lazy breath. Here, nothing could stop him from truly worshiping the temple of her body--save his own sense of dignity and the knowledge of what could never be.  
  
Dignity? His demon laughed. Isn't much of that left, mate. No, it was the knowledge of what his sleeping beauty would do if she woke to find herself in the arms of the dragon that kept a precarious grip on his self-control tonight. No fairytale princess here. Like himself, a killing machine--nothing pink and fluffy about it. And she wouldn't hesitate to reduce him to ash if she suspected any of this silent meditation.  
  
The sun had set hours ago. Quickly, the little light that had found its way into the cavern was driven out, and Buffy was thrust into a pitch-black world. Spike had watched with amusement as the slayer tried to maintain her bearings, tried to fight off fatigue. Gradually, the strain of the past day and the all-encompassing dark had taken its toll, and she had given into the night.  
  
He would need to rest soon, too. But it could wait. His temple lay before him. And he had another benediction to offer.  
  
  
TBC...  
  



	2. Dreams, Death, and Desire

Absolution in Vein  
By Moirae  
  
  
E-mail: moirae_13@hotmail.com  
Rating: R  
Disclaimer: In Joss we trust. They don't belong to me. Please don't sue.  
Spoilers: Season 5, post "Blood Ties." Riley is gone, but Spike hasn't made any admissions of love to Buffy.  
Description: B/S Buffy wrestles with inexplicable dreams while she and Spike are trapped together.  
Feedback: Would love it! Thanks for the reviews I've already received. Keep it up--they make me write faster. ^_^  
  
Author's note: See Chapter one for notes on Christian references.   
  
  
  
  
Chapter 2: Dreams, Death and Desire  
  
  
  
~Created in His image, from the dust of the earth...  
  
Bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh...~  
  
  
Scavenger birds circle high above Golgotha in anticipation of the coming feast. With unfaltering dedication to their pray they linger far longer than the bulk of the human rabble gathered at the base of the hill since midday. Bored by the slow death of the three men staked in front of them, most have retreated to their dismal hovels and barren lives. What remains is a scattered accumulation of the most devoted or the least enterprising--the former, determined to finish what they have begun, the latter, too listless to find other employment.  
  
Sentries form a broken fence around the crucified forms, supporting themselves on otherwise unemployed spears or shifting foot to foot under the angry sun. For most of these soldiers, death is a familiar companion. It accompanies them in battle, stands watch with them in the weary night, and follows them into dreaming. It is the pulse and breath of their lives--and still, none are at ease with its lingering stench.  
  
Magdalen stands away from the other onlookers, a graceful marble statue amid a sea of dull, clay formations. Her cerulean eyes never leave the gaunt figure in the center of the trio, and in waves of lucidity, his gaze meets hers--a mixture of pain, passion, and acceptance blazing in its depths. His skin is ashen and taut with dehydration, and he has long since lost the strength to fight the flies swarming his face and body. From his wrists and ankles rivulets of blood anoint the earth, swelling in crimson pools before merging with the dusty surface of the hill. She examines his outspread form, suffering etched on his face, and swallows a hint of bile rising in her throat.   
  
In a moment of indulgent escape, Magdalen opens the caverns of her memory and roams through them. The lives she has lead, the people she has been, flash before her eyes.  
  
whore, lover, disciple...   
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Through thatched walls, she hears the strangled sounds of desperation and lust--the air is heavy with the smell of sex. She reclines on rough cotton matting and idly fingers her robe, awaiting her next patron. This day is like any other in her vile life--a series of sweaty embraces followed by an even more dreadful solitude--and she again contemplates withdrawing altogether. But there is no escape for God's little fallen angel--she is tainted with the curse of her sin as if a devil resided inside her lithe frame, and she fears what tortures she might face even in death.  
  
Suddenly, a shadow from the hallway slides into her room. The figure pauses just inside the door and for a moment her breath fails her. He studies her with a look of longing and... hope. His very presense suggests divinity, and reflected deep in his hazel eyes is the promise of her redemption. She reaches out for his hand and wordlessly he leads her out of hell...  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Candlelight flickers in the quiet room, casting the dancing shadow of the lovers' intertwined bodies against a clay wall. They move in unison, mindful of nothing but the feel of flesh against flesh and the sweet scent of their coupling. Their oceanic rhythm rides over wave after wave of bliss until the rising tide in both of them swells to its peak and breaks, crashing down in ecstasy. Silent minutes pass while their passion ebbs and she falls into a dreamy trance. She is reborn in his embrace, his name a prayer on her lips...  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
In another room she sits among his followers and shares the Passover meal. Bread is broken and wine is poured. She basks in the knowledge that she is his beloved and will follow him to the ends of the earth. But theirs is another fate. With horror she listens to his determined speech. Tonight it will begin--betrayal and death and sacrifice--and none may stop it. His words fall on the shocked ears of his disciples, but he silences all protest. Within the depths of the glass of wine before her, she is certain she can see his grim destiny unfolding. Silently, she drinks from it.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
A movement from the sentries startles Magdalen to the present. In silent agreement, two guards leave their stationary post for the first time since their arrival and ascend the hill to the wasted men at its crest. In the east, the scarlet orb of the sun lingers on the horizon, casting its dying hue on the broken peaks of Israeli mountains and bleeding into the somber twilight sky. Night approaches, and with it the death sentence of the crucified forms with be completed.  
  
With horror Magdalen realizes what the sentries intend to do and she deserts her position among the bystanders, rushing toward the lumbering row of guards in a powerful fury. With a strangled cry, she crashes into the immobile forms at the foot of the hill and their faces alight with amusement at the small woman's sudden outburst. She thrusts her hands around the wall of bodies and reaches futilely for her love--her life--willing the men who approach him to abandon their task. They ignore her pleas and continue their trek up the hill.  
  
For the first time today, the flood of tears threatening her eyes breaks, and a torrent flows down her cheeks, splashing onto the tunic of the man restraining her. The reality of impending death has suddenly smashed through her thinly veiled wall of denial, and she sobs in violent bursts, her control dissolving in a monsoon of grief.  
  
Her frantic gaze travels over the tableau in front of her--three outstretched sacrifices flanked by their military assassins--and when her eyes reach the figure in the middle, he meets her with a piercing stare. His calm expression quiets her lament and urges her to find peace. With shame she realizes the selfishness of this outburst--her tears cannot help him now; he needs her strength to see him through this. She steps away from the sentries and offers an apologetic smile, wiping the offending streams from her face.  
  
It is swift. The guards mean merely to end the criminals' suffering, not to torture them further. The two men on either side of him expire quickly and he watches the soldier approach him without regret. She is there. She will carry on in his name--they are bound forever. Bound by blood. Without warning, the blade of the staff slips into his side.  
  
"It is done."  
  
As the last of the crimson sun is swallowed by the mountain range, Magdalen steadies her shaking limbs and looks into the dimming eyes of the man she loves.  
  
  
~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy crashed out of sleep and sat up with a violent start.  
  
"Oh my god..."  
  
Her breath came in ragged bursts and her heart hammered against her ribcage.  
  
"What? Who?...What's wrong?" Spike had been torn from sleep by her outburst and now scanned the room blearily for signs of danger.  
  
"That can't be." She ignored his questions and continued in a private meditation. "That's not possible."  
  
"What's not possible, luv? What's going on?" He was standing now, slowly gaining his senses and slightly irritated at being surprised out of slumber.  
  
"What?" Buffy noticed the lean vampire hovering above her and came back to reality. "Oh. Nothing, Spike. I'm sorry. It was just a dream."  
  
She was not going to get off that easy. "Powerful dream, pet, to have you all shaken up. Was it a prophecy?" He could feel her furious heartbeat and unconsciously he licked his lips. "Did you see how we might get out of here?"  
  
"Prophecy?" Shaky fingers combed over her scalp as she recalled the details of the disturbing dream. "No, I don't think so. This felt like the past. Like something that happened a long time ago. But I was there. It was me." Confusion mounted in her voice. "But that can't be true--there's no way."  
  
Spike sensed her rising anxiety and knelt down in an awkward parody of compassion. "It's okay, pet. I'm sure it was just a dream. Nothing to get upset about." Unconsciously, he reached a hand to her back and tried to sooth the tension from her shoulders. Her skin scorched his cool hand, striking him with the reality of who he was touching, and regretfully he pulled away.  
  
She barely noticed the gesture. "It felt so real."  
  
The shaken figure in front of him was quite the enigma. Buffy rarely let her guard down around Spike, and he wasn't sure what to make of the fact that these unusual emotional collapses were occurring with more frequency. The stress of her mother's illness and Riley's sudden departure surely accounted for most of it, but her willingness to share this vulnerability with her former enemy mystified him.  
  
Spike settled himself next to her and instantly realized his mistake. Her blood thrummed against her skin, and he was painfully reminded that it had been over twenty-four hours since he had last fed. Momentarily subduing his demon, he tried to focus on the matter at hand. "What was it about?"  
  
"About?" Spike's proximity suddenly made itself apparent to Buffy and she shrunk from him, drawing a familiar curtain over her anxiety. "Nothing, Spike. I'm fine. Sorry I woke you."  
  
Disgusted, the vampire stood. "Right. You've got it all under control. Everything's just peachy in Buffyland." He pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his black t-shirt and strode back to 'his side' of the cave, avoiding the tangle of thin sunbeams now scattered throughout. He was sick of her obstinate self-reliance and he wasn't going to let her get away with it this time. Ruthlessly, he attacked her. "That's your bloody mantra now isn't it?--'I'm fine, Mom. I'm fine, Giles. I'm fine, Spike.' Say it enough times and you'll come to believe it."  
  
"What the hell do you know about anything?!" With a furious flash of blond, Buffy was on her feet. She refused to be pulled into his stupid mind games--pretending he cared about her one minute, ripping her apart the next. "I had a dream. Big deal. You don't know anything about me or what I'm going through so you can just fuck off with your psychotherapy bullshit."  
  
"Touchy, touchy, luv." The cherry tip of his cigarette flared. Theatrically, he addressed an invisible confidant, "She doth protest too much methinks."  
  
"What is this?" Buffy examined him suspiciously. "Why do you care about what I'm dreaming? About how I feel? Has that chip given you a mental lapse? Because the Spike I know hates me and my friends and wouldn't give a rats ass about my problems."  
  
"You know fuck-all about me, Slayer." Couldn't she see how he felt by now? It had been a great deal of time since he had felt anything resembling hate towards this fiery girl. "You think I haven't learned a thing or two poncing around with you silly twits? I know enough to see that you are falling apart at the seams and if you don't pull it together, something's going to come bite you in the arse." His steal blue eyes took in their stone prison, and with dawning realization, he said, "But I guess it already has."  
  
Buffy's fury waxed and her face set in a threatening grimace. "I should have staked you years ago."  
  
Spike's voice was frozen. "That song is getting old. Stop badgering me with your empty threats and actually do something, if you think you can."  
  
In a flash, she was across the room and pummeling into his frame. Spike abandoned his cigarette as she crashed into him, their tangled bodies tumbling in a heap against a hard stone wall. He grabbed her wrists in a defensive measure and they rolled, fighting for dominance. Careful not to hurt her and activate the chip, he used her momentum against her and gained the upper hand. When they came to a halt, Spike was positioned over her thighs, pinning her arms to the floor.  
  
She glared up at him, just inches from his face, her eyes pools of hatred and mouth a slash of rage. He smirked arrogantly, his sharp cheekbones carved in self-satisfaction. "Look who's on top..."  
  
"Get off me, you bastard," she spat.  
  
Her body hummed against his and Spike was assaulted by a kaleidoscope of sensations: breath and flesh, blood and arousal, anger and frustration and lust and life. The pure essence of life that flowed from this creature was intoxicating, and he wanted to drink her to the last.  
  
"No... I rather like this... I mean, I've done slayers," he murmured, eyeing her hungrily. "But I've never *done* slayers." The barriers of their relationship were dangerously close to crumbling, but he just couldn't care.  
  
Buffy struggled against his fierce grip to no avail. Her fury was rapidly bleeding into another type of passion and an unwelcome flush crept up her skin. "You disgust me."  
  
"Funny way of showing it." Molesting eyes traveled down the soft hollow of her throat and across the bare expanse of her chest, teasing over her suddenly inadequate white tank top. "I can smell you," he purred, inhaling deeply for emphasis. "Get off on violence, do we? Or is it just me?"  
  
Mortified, she shifted under him and squeezed her legs together to mask the evidence of her lust pooling there, but the movement exposed a greater problem as she recognized with horror the pressing issue between his own legs. Reigning herself in, she managed to stammer, "Not in your wildest."  
  
"Oh, but I thought we were talking about *your* wildest, luv." With that, he smashed down on her lips in a violent kiss. He punished her mouth with his fury and lust, tugging at her lips until she opened the gates and engaged in battle with his tongue. At first Buffy was too shocked to respond, but soon enough, shock was replaced by desire and she devoured him with equal fury.  
  
The cave echoed with the sounds of their dueling kiss, throaty growls and lecherous purrs giving birth to a score of erotic malice.  
  
After a thorough exploration, his mouth abandoned its original target and trailed a bruising path down her chin and neck, alternating wet strokes of his tongue and blunt nips of his teeth. When he reached the hollow of her throat, his demon battered for control and came to the fore, re-sculpting his forehead in irregular ridges and drawing razored teeth into his mouth.  
  
Spike's grip on her wrists shifted--blackened nails raked over fleshy pink palms before their probing fingers met and twisted into a macabre embrace. Buffy writhed under him, pressing her hips against his and arching her neck into his mouth's assault.  
  
His elongated incisors scraped a path along her neck--trailing twin red welts in their wake--until they reached the hint of scar tissue that marked her as another's. This he paid special attention to, teasing it with dangerously-extended fangs, punishing it with violent laps of his tongue--as though evidence of its memory could be eradicated by his perverse ministrations.  
  
As though he could claim her for his own.  
  
It was the sigh that undid him. Buffy took in his attentions and she lost herself. The world faded around her, and this moment--his touch, his kiss--came into blinding focus. The last of her reserve was abandoned in his violent caress and, involuntarily, she let out a sound of pure sensuality. It welled up from the very core of her being, lacking savagery and hatred, and reveling in the pleasure of their embrace.  
  
And it utterly terrified him.  
  
Brutally, Spike was driven to the present--brought to full awareness of the woman that lay beneath him (the enemy that was *moaning* into him)--and he flung himself off of her like a bullet. He flattened himself against a stone wall and peered at her incomprehensible expression.  
  
Buffy was stunned. She felt the loss of his embrace and, foggily, her brain tried to make sense of it. Her forest-colored eyes widened in horror as she realized what she had done, and in a moment she was on her feet, trying to banish the memory of his touch from her skin. She pulled her arms around herself and backed away, unable to break the thread between their gaze. Spike rose shakily to his feet as the demon retreated. Two words expressed it all.  
  
"Oh fuck."  
  
  
  
  
TBC...  



	3. Heaven's Soldiers

Absolution in Vein  
By Moirae  
  
  
E-mail: moirae_13@hotmail.com  
Rating: R  
Disclaimer: In Joss we trust. They don't belong to me. Please don't sue.  
Spoilers: Season 5, post "Blood Ties." Riley is gone, but Spike hasn't made any admissions of love to Buffy.  
Description: B/S Buffy wrestles with inexplicable dreams while she and Spike are trapped together.  
Feedback: Would love it! Thanks for the reviews I've already received. Keep it up--they make me write faster. ^_^  
  
**** Severe angst warning in this one! Implied character deaths. You have been warned.****  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 3: Heaven's Soldiers  
  
  
Nothing would ever be the same.  
  
Buffy pondered this for the millionth time as she stared across the expanse of the cavern. Minutes had trickled into hours and still neither broke the silence. Outside, the world carried on--humanity lumbered about its business and the sun made its steady ascent across a cloudless sky--but inside their shadowy crypt, time stopped. The memory of their transgression hovered like an unwanted guest, tainting the atmosphere with tension and assaulting their thoughts with its unbelievable implications.  
  
What was I doing? Why did I respond to him like that? Buffy knew the answers to the litany that looped incessantly through her head but evaded them as if even thinking about the truth behind her burst of passion would make her actions too real. As if I could take any of it back now...  
  
She wanted him. It was wrong, stupid, and impossible.  
  
Yet undeniable.  
  
She wanted him, and Spike had used that against her. He had made it a game. Like everything else. He had torn her dignity from her and turned her into a simpering, sex-hungry idiot. He made her feel wanted and so *god-damned HOT* for the first time in ages. And then he had walked away-- leaped away was more like it --and shown her that Buffy Anne Summers was once again a huge fool for trusting him.  
  
Spike couldn't believe what had happened--what he had done. He had destroyed their unspoken code of contempt and decimated their safe distance. And it was bloody wonderful!   
  
And he would probably get staked for it. She had lost herself in the moment--had been overcome with passion for someone she barely tolerated.   
  
But maybe he had been wrong about her feelings for him. Maybe all her bickering and hostility was just a mask of an underlying desire for him. Maybe she wasn't thinking about you at all, mate. You're beneath her, remember? There was the possibility that her response had just been misdirected lust, the desire for her sodding Angel, or her boytoy Riley--and he had been a handy substitute in a moment of weakness. But Spike suspected it was otherwise.  
  
For the sake of his sanity, he *hoped* it was otherwise...  
  
The first few hours after their...indiscretion...had passed in a death-like quiet. Spike leaned against the far end of the cavern, fidgeting with unspent energy, while Buffy crouched close to her makeshift bed from the night before, lost in contemplation. Spike's beloved duster lay unmoved, an abandoned casualty of war.  
  
At mid-afternoon, Spike smoked his last cigarette and Buffy began to notice the first pangs of hunger. Her meditation momentarily turned to her companion's mounting bloodlust and she shuddered at what they might both have to endure in the hours to come. She steadied herself against the pain and returned to her former reverie.  
  
As evening approached, Spike found himself haunted by different thoughts. He pictured their escape from Glory two nights ago: Buffy was slung over his shoulder as he dodged for this cave in the hills just outside Sunnydale. The demented god was fast upon them, an he prepped himself for the coming battle. But instead of attacking, she halted at the mouth of the cave. Donning a garish red dress, a halo of wild hair, and a maniacal gleam, she paused a moment to consider them.   
  
A sickening grin infected her face. "Sweet dreams, you two," was all she said before she retreated. Then, the opening of the cave was closed off and Spike was left with a broken slayer in his arms.  
  
It was odd to say the least. Why did she just leave us here? Why didn't she finish us off when there was the least chance for escape? What was the advantage of closing us in together? The predator in him could not fathom it.  
  
It struck him with sickening clarity.  
  
There *was* no chance for escape. No Scoobies would be coming to make a valiant rescue, just in the nick of time, this go around. At this moment, everything and everyone Buffy knew and loved was hopelessly annihilated. The psychotic bitch would spare none in the quest for her precious key--maim and destroy who she might--and once she had slaughtered the catalogue of Buffy's friends and family, she would have found Dawn and it would all be over.  
  
And if the two of them ripped each other apart in the mean time...bonus.  
  
Two days. An eternity for a god. The poor fools never had a chance. Even Buffy's strength had proven inadequate against the beastie slag, and those sods had nothing but a few magic tricks and solidarity to see them through.  
  
A creeping sense of loss assailed Spike as he envisioned the bloodied corpses of his former foes. Instead of reveling in the thought of their gore-splattered bodies (their haunted faces frozen in anguish) he felt a tremor of grief. It would have once seemed impossible for him to mourn the death of any human, but he had learned that given enough time, everything changes--even demons. No joke, mate. Over the last year this unlikely group of monster-hunters had become the only family he had known--an estranged and bizarre family--but family nonetheless. And if it hurt him to think of their loss, it would kill Buffy.  
  
But I guess we're both dead already.   
  
"What?"   
  
He didn't realize he had said the words aloud until it was too late.  
  
Spike grimaced and shifted on his heals. He couldn't look at her. For the first time in his long life, William the Bloody was at a loss for words. "Uh..."  
  
"Did you say something?" Buffy waited for an answer, but silence filled the cavern. "Did you say 'we're dead already?'" Anger twisted her voice into a growl.  
  
"I was just thinking out loud," he offered, defensively. "Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you." He braved a glance at her and regretted it immediately. She could have cut metal with the look she was aiming at him.  
  
"Why were you even thinking that? You think we're going to die? You just want to roll over and give up?" She hadn't wanted to break the silence, but now that it was done, she was grateful to gain a reprieval from her inner monologue of regret. And arguing was definitely on the "approved" Buffy-Spike activity list.  
  
"Look, it was just a thought." He observed her defiant scowl and knew he would have to come up with something better than that. "I don't want to die any more than you do, but pretending that everything is roses is not going to help. It's been two days and I don't know about humans, but if I go much longer without feeding, I will become a very cranky baby."  
  
Buffy stood, her glare softening slightly. She didn't want to admit that he was right, didn't want to tell him she had been having the same thoughts just moments before. "Well, if you can handle a little self-control, I am sure that we will get out of here just fine. Giles and the others are sure to be looking for us," her voice hesitated, "They're going to find us any minute now."  
  
"What do you mean 'self control'? Are you talking about earlier? 'Cause that, little missy--"  
  
"Whoa! Hey! I wasn't talking about anything besides your disgusting little blood habit." Talking was fine, but talking about kisses and...other things...was definitely not.  
  
"That 'disgusting little habit' is how I live, alright?" Not willing to ease her obvious discomfort, Spike continued with a malicious gleam in his eyes. "And if I recall correctly, you didn't seem too put off by it when you were sucking face with Angel...or with me, for that matter." His lips curled into a lecherous sneer.  
  
"Stop speaking! Why can't you stay focused?!" Buffy was ready to die of embarrassment. If he said another word, she was sure to combust.  
  
"Come on, Buffy! Stop running away. We're going to have to talk about this sooner or later."  
  
"No, no, never talk about this. As far as I'm concerned, 'this' never happened. *Nothing* happened. There is *nothing* to speak of." Her words were rattled off desperately.  
  
Spike knew it wasn't smart to get into it, but taunting her was just too much fun. "That is called denial, luv. Something most *definitely* happened between us and I'm not going to let you pretend it didn't."  
  
"Why are you doing this? It was a mistake. It was wrong," she stammered, "and... and *you* kissed *me*!"   
  
Oh, yeah. You tell him, Slayer.   
  
A memory flickered through Spike's brain.  
  
~~Buffy sauntering up to him in the Bronze. Buffy pressing herself to him like a bitch in heat.   
  
"I could ride you at a gallop until your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up. I've got muscles you've never even dreamed of. I could squeeze you until you popped like warm champagne, and you'd beg me to hurt you just a little bit more. And you know why I don't?"  
  
A silky pause while his cock stirred and an inexplicable longing overcame him.  
  
"Because it's *wrong*."~~  
  
Oh, yes payback was a bitch.   
  
"I was not the only one doing the kissing, pet."  
  
"You had me pinned down. I couldn't go anywhere. I wake up from a dream, and suddenly you're on top of me." It was a blatant distortion of the facts, but Buffy just couldn't let him see how much he had gotten to her.  
  
Something twittered in the back of Spike's mind but he couldn't grasp it. He continued her torture. "That's quite a selective memory, Buffy. But in *this* reality you were just as willing a participant as I. More so, if I remember correctly. All moaning and needy."  
  
"Shut up! I was not moaning!"  
  
"So you're saying I didn't excite you at all?" He prowled towards her.  
  
"No. Not at all." She backed into a wall.  
  
"And you've never thought about me and you..." He left the thought hanging, unfinished, as he moved closer.  
  
"Never."  
  
Still, something plagued his mind. Something she had said earlier, but he couldn't place it and continued, "So I could come over there and kiss you, and you would feel nothing?"  
  
The unyielding wall pressed into her back. She tried to reign in her rapidly increasing breath and frenzied heartbeat as her brain screamed Do not fall for another trap! When she spoke, it was barely a whisper. "Nothing."  
  
What was it? Spike's mind raced. Without breaking his stride, he moved towards her. The dream, she was talking about her dream. "Then why are you trying to get away from me, luv?"  
  
He had almost reached her now--was close enough to touch her. She looked like a prey about to be devoured and he smiled inwardly. The dream...the dream...what about the dream?   
  
He caged her against the wall, his hands pinned to the stone on either side of her head. Buffy prepared herself for his kiss--she couldn't help it. She knew she should push him away, hit him, run--*anything*--but her limbs weren't listening to her. As much as she tried to deny it, she wanted this. It felt right. Spike was her worst enemy, her most dangerous foe, and recently, her most useful ally. And, God, he was beautiful! All this flashed warp-speed through her head as his lips dipped down...  
  
When it suddenly hit him.  
  
'Sweet dreams, you two.'   
  
"Oh, bugger!" Spike pulled away from a shocked--and slightly disappointed--Buffy.  
  
"What?" Confusion was evident in her small squeak.  
  
Spike paced in front of her. He had been so stupid. It wasn't just an expression. She was trying to tell him something. "What did you dream, Buffy? Glory said something about dreams."  
  
Buffy was shocked to the present. He wasn't going to kiss her; he was just toying with her, as usual. Why do I let him get to me?!   
  
She didn't give herself time to answer before familiar rage settled in her bones and she thrust her fist forward, connecting to Spike's nose with a brutal right hook. The crunching sound sent a smile to her face even as the vampire's cries echoed through the cavern.  
  
"Bloody Hell, Slayer!!"  
  
  
~~~~~  
  
  
"Buffy! This could be very important. Glory wasn't just making pleasant conversation; she had something in mind when she talked about dreams." Spike was getting nowhere with the petit slayer. After the pain in his nose subsided, he had attacked her with a barrage of questions regarding her dream. They had gone round and round the topic for over ten minutes and still Buffy refused to talk about it.  
  
"But they had nothing to do with us!" Buffy paced the room, desperately trying to change the subject.  
  
"'They'? You had more than one dream, then? You didn't say anything about that."  
  
"Yes! I had more than one dream. And neither of them featured you, me, Glory, the gang, or anyone else in this town! I don't even remember them that well. They were just dreams!"   
  
It was a lie. She could recall with blinding clarity the sights, smells, and tastes from both dreams at any given moment--and they were more potent than any prophesy dream she'd had to date. When she woke from the first one, she had been too preoccupied with being trapped to give it much thought, but after having the second, and seeing that they were obviously connected, she started to wonder what it all meant.   
  
But that didn't mean she wanted to share. I tell him I'm dreaming about Christ and I'll never hear the end of 'Second Coming' jokes. "I'm not going to give you a personalized tour through my head, Spike, so just forget about the dreams."   
  
"You are being so daft! This could be the only way for us to get out of here!" He was seething now. How could he make her see how important this was to them?  
  
"I don't know why you're so worried. Giles and the others are coming. Willow's probably got a locator spell on us right now. They're going to be here any minute." She didn't know who she was trying harder to convince--Spike or herself.  
  
"Buffy, join reality. Your friends are dead." He regretted the words before they left his mouth.  
  
"What? What did you just say?"  
  
He tried to backpedal, though he knew eventually she would have to face the truth. "Nothing. It was stupid. I'm just blowing off steam." He could have bitten his tongue off.  
  
"No, you meant something. What did you mean?" Blind panic edged in on her. Without considering her next words, she let them slip. "Did you do something to them?"  
  
The question was like a knife sliding into his flesh. "How can you say that after everything I've done for you? Of course I didn't *do* anything to them!" He knew he should leave it at that, but impulse control was just one of those attributes Spike was lacking. His existence was a landscape painted in flesh and blood, betrayal and retribution, and right now he wanted to slash a crimson river of pain across her breast.  
  
"What do you think Glory is doing out there while we're trapped in here? Think about it. She locked away the only two people with any shot of fighting her, so that she and your friends could have a private party." He pushed the knife home with a silky breath. "But I don't think it's the kind of party any of them are going to walk away from."  
  
Her head spun. The world was crumbling around her and Buffy could feel pieces of herself breaking off with it. "No... no, no, no, NO! They are fine. Giles will keep them safe." A child's singsong voice hummed in the back of her mind as Buffy paced the cavern.  
  
~Never gonna wake. They're all gonna die.~  
  
She tried to ignore it. "There are protection spells. There are ways to fight her. They are fine! Don't you say they're not!" She didn't know if she was talking to Spike or the haunting voice in her head.   
  
~Got them in their sleep. Now they're gonna fry.~  
  
Her head was pounding now. Spike looked on uneasily as Buffy unraveled. She was losing it and he knew he was the cause.  
  
~She put them in a pan! She cooked them up real nice!~  
~The slayer and her friends! A bunch of little mice!~  
  
Her body shook uncontrollably. She fought the hopeless--reasonable--utterly truthful--thoughts raging in her brain and dug her nails into fleshy palms until she drew blood. The child's voice squealed with delight.  
  
~NEVER GONNA WAKE! THEY'RE ALL GONNA DIE!  
GOT THEM IN THEIR SLEEP! NOW THEY'RE GONNA FRY!~  
  
Buffy roamed the cave aimlessly, drowning the haunting voice by throwing the cave's plentiful supply of rocks against its stone walls. Her words became a mantra--a prayer--to fight her creeping insanity.  
  
"They're fine. They're fine. They're fine They're fine They're fine..."  
  
The crash of stone against stone marked each of her desperate affirmations. Still, the voice filled her senses, forced its way through her composure. Her conviction faltered and her own voice whispered the truth of her friends' chances. They're helpless. Buffy exploded with a violent shriek, punctuating her fury with a fist-sized rock as she hurled it to the ceiling with every ounce of her slayer strength.  
  
"THEY'RE FINE...!!!!"  
  
Her scream echoed through the cavern as the rock punched through stone and topsoil, sending shards of granite and clumps of earth raining down.  
  
Silence fell with the settling dust.  
  
Her rage-driven fit left a gaping wound in the dome above them, and Spike looked through it to the now-dimming sky. The first hint of stars twinkled like beacons to other, distant, shining worlds.  
  
Buffy stood immobile, locked between denial and despair. In a trance, her mind battled against events she could not control, grappled with the knowledge of her impotence. Spike looked on, frozen with fear, at the ghost in front of him. It was Buffy's frame that stood before him, but nothing remotely human looked out from those haunted eyes. Buffy was gone. In her place, a broken shell.  
  
Finally, after agonizing minutes trapped in indecision, Spike saw the young woman awaken. Her eyes snapped into focus and her body sagged, as if yielding to an unseen weight, before she dropped to the floor with a muffled sob.  
  
"Oh, God..."  
  
Spike rushed to her side.  
  
"They're dead, aren't they?"  
  
He didn't know what to do. He had started this and now she wanted answers. He could lie. He could pretend things would be okay. But he had never denied her the truth--even when her beloved friends and family could not find it in their hearts to give it to her. His respect for her demanded his brutal honesty...  
  
Tenderly, he offered, "Looks that way, luv."  
  
She sat in a crumpled heap--tears streaming salty paths down her face--and she reached out for him. Quicker than light, he was on the floor, taking the broken girl into his arms.  
  
With a tear-filled squeak, she mouthed, "I should have been there." Her tortured voice sent a guilty jolt through his body, and Spike wondered if maybe it wouldn't have been better to lie to her just this one time. He ran a shaky hand over her golden locks and pressed her against his chest.   
  
"It isn't your fault." He didn't know what else to say.  
  
She melted into his embrace. "It is. I'm the slayer. I should have been there to protect them." Her limbs were numb. She could feel herself disappearing, crumbling to ash and drifting away on a breeze.  
  
"Buffy, nothing could have protected them. If she didn't get them like this, she would have gotten them some other way. She's a God. Slayers aren't built to fight Gods."  
  
She heard his voice through a fog and swallowed the urge to howl in rage. This wasn't fair! They deserved more! She wanted to FIGHT! KILL! DESTROY! She wanted to rend Glory limb from limb--decimate the creature that could demolish her life so carelessly.  
  
...or maybe she just wanted to die.  
  
Instead, she wrapped her arms around Spike's lean frame and rocked against him with muffled sobs. All grievances between the former enemies were forgotten in their embrace. Buffy didn't care that the arms around her belonged to a vampire, that he had planned her demise half a dozen times, that he was responsible for the deaths of hundreds--perhaps thousands--of people, or that he was the last man she should let herself get close to; all that mattered as her life came crumbling down around her was the knowledge that he was the closest thing to friend she now possessed and that he cared enough about her to try to make this impossible horror bearable.  
  
They sat like that for a lifetime, the slayer taking comfort in the least likely man, the vampire giving comfort to the least likely girl. Sometime during the night (neither of them realized when) the two laid down in a tangled embrace and fell into exhausted sleep as a million stars twinkled overhead.  
  
  
  
TBC...  



	4. Easter Rising

Absolution in Vein  
By Moirae  
  
  
E-mail: moirae_13@hotmail.com  
Rating: R  
Disclaimer: In Joss we trust. They don't belong to me. Please don't sue.  
Spoilers: Season 5, post "Blood Ties." Riley is gone, but Spike hasn't made any admissions of love to Buffy.  
Description: B/S Buffy wrestles with inexplicable dreams while she and Spike are trapped together.  
Feedback: I love it!!  
  
Author's note: Thank you for all the support I've received. The reviews have been a wonderful motivational tool. I am, however, close to the end of my college career, so the last one or two chapters yet to come may take a little longer to produce. I'll work as quickly as I can, but between finals and trying to find a job, time is limited right now. Please keep reviewing. It inspires me to write more. ^_^  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 4: Easter Rising  
  
  
  
~You will weep and mourn...~  
  
~You will have pain, but your pain will turn to joy...~  
  
  
  
Amid the blue glow of early morning, Magdalen contemplates the secluded cave where her lover now rests. The alabaster jar she carries is heavy and cold in her palm. She finds comfort in its tangible form, its certain purpose. With the small jar of ointment she will anoint his head and feet--pay homage to one in death who should have known all the world's praise in life.   
  
After three days she still cannot believe he is gone. She pulled him from the cross herself. Waited for the crowd to disperse, for the sentries to retreat. She lingered until the sky was blackened and bare, bereft even of stars that night--as if the universe itself was in mourning. Then, with the help of a returned disciple, she released her lover's body from its cruel restraints and conveyed him to the remote cavern that would house him for eternity.  
  
Here, before that cavern, she hesitates. Another place that will bear her grief, another witness to their destinies intertwined.  
  
Gethsemane. Pilate's balcony. Golgotha...  
  
Now here. An isolated cave. A private sepulchre.  
  
Dismally, Magdalen remembers that this place has not been touched by his life. It has not known his beauty, his grace; it houses his body, but not his soul. It is three days since he was torn from her and she now questions her ability to face the empty, lifeless shell of his body--the painful evidence of his existence.  
  
The jar in her hand steadies her. She remembers her task, and knows it will have to be enough to get her through the torture of seeing of her lover and not feeling his comforting touch, not hearing his consoling words.  
  
She takes measured steps to the cave, her thin sandals offering little protection against the rocky desert floor. The cavernous mouth is open and hidden in shadow, and as she enters, Magdalen feels as though she is being swallowed whole.  
  
Through the darkness, she can make out his form. The linen shroud drapes over his body with a delicate intimacy--a feather-light touch. A kiss. The planes of his face and frame are defined in shadow, molded by the whisper-thin cloth.  
  
A stillness takes over, and Magdalen stands silently admiring him from across the expanse. This will be her last visit. She will lovingly anoint him, mark him as sovereign in the kingdom of heaven, then she will pick up the remnants of her life and carry on without him by her side.  
  
Outside, dawn threatens the horizon with a rosy glow.  
  
She isn't sure when or how it happens. A trick of the light. A flutter of breeze. She feels insanity creep in and knows she must be imagining this. The shroud shifts.  
  
No. The dead don't move.   
  
Again. She sees it for sure this time--the flex of dormant muscle underneath the cloth. The chest rising with breath. A wrist jerks. The toes twitch. Before she can comprehend one inexplicable suggestion of movement, another follows, throwing her brain into a frantic spiral of denial.  
  
Tangled images flood her mind unbidden, uncontrolled...  
  
~~A shadow from the hallway slides into her room~~  
  
~~Candlelight flickers~~  
  
~~She reaches out for his hand~~  
  
~~"Yeshua of Galilee shall be crucified"~~  
  
~~She takes the glass and drinks from it~~  
  
Before the last image fades from her sight, he is standing before her, the shroud wrapped carelessly around his waist. Tears stain her cheeks and she falls to her knees in rapture. Her only desire, her only hope--fulfilled. Her lover breathes. Her savior lives.  
  
"Yeshua."  
  
The word is a question, a prayer, an invocation. Is this possible? Is this a dream? Crystalline eyes search his face for recognition. Hazel eyes answer her. This is most certainly real.   
  
"Why are you weeping?" He chides her with a smile, and she and responds in kind.  
  
Out of happiness she thinks. His hand is offered and she takes it gratefully, pulling herself into his arms. The cavern glows with the first hints of dawn--pressing darkness into isolated corners--as they hold each other.  
  
No words are spoken. None need be. They are bound--body and soul--forever. Savior and sinner-redeemed. Bound by blood.  
  
Tenderly, he extracts himself from her embrace and steps out of the sepulchre. He is the picture of serenity under a brilliant rose sky, inviting her to follow. Their destination--their fate--is unknown, but the journey must begin somewhere. Or is this the end of the beginning? Already, she has experienced more from life than any one person has right to claim. Whore. Lover. Disciple.  
  
How many more lives will she be graced to spend with him? How much time? As she meets his gaze, she decides that were she offered eternity, it would not be enough. Wordlessly, she exits the cave and approaches her lover to begin their journey anew.  
  
As morning breaks across Jerusalem, Magdalen steps into the sunlight and happily greets the dawn.  
  
  
  
~~~~~  
  
  
  
They woke together in a lover's embrace. In a sleep-fuddled fog, Buffy greeted cool blue eyes with her own. Tender arms encircled her, and for a moment she did not remember all that had transpired the night before. Inexplicably, she felt reborn, hopeful.   
  
Spike woke with a contentment he had never known. The woman he loved stared back at him, her face, the picture of affection. 'Loved?' Where did that come from? He wanted this woman, he lusted after her. But did he love? One look into her rapturous face and he knew.  
  
He had loved her all along.  
  
She was his match, his equal in every way. She challenged him with her skills as a fighter; she met his biting sarcasm with an evenly-matched wit. She was fire and passion and beauty and light, and she inspired him like no woman-- no, not even Drusilla --ever had. It was simply a matter of scraping away the title "enemy" and he could see it cleary. Well, perhaps not so simply...it *had* taken four years, after all.  
  
He knew with unfaltering certainty that, because of his love, he would deny her nothing--he would subdue his demon, sacrifice himself, do anything she asked, if only to catch a glimpse of this contentment again.   
  
Spike felt a sudden warmth spread through his lifeless body, and he dared to imagined a time when even the grossest of his sins might be washed away by her redemptive love. A smile adorned her face and absolution stared back at him from within the depths of her affectionate eyes.  
  
He was granted only a moment of satisfaction before realization hit the woman in his arms and the face of his salvation fell. As the dream haze wore off, Buffy felt the blinding loss of her friends and family all over again. Suddenly, the events of last night, the truth of their situation, came crashing down on Spike. He watched Buffy's eyes glaze over in horror and felt her body recoil as if receiving a blow.  
  
He felt sick. To be picturing a future with this girl, to imagine she would ever return his feelings for her--it was ridiculous. They wouldn't last the week like this--much less the eternity it would take for her to ever return his affection. Here she was, broken and trembling from a wound so acute it would never heal, and he was thinking warm and fuzzy thoughts about love, about *redemption*.  
  
He abandoned his hopes and tried to comfort her instead. Rocking her small frame against him, he whispered an unintelligible litany of solace--but it was to no avail. She shuddered with unspent grief, a watery tide threatening her eyes yet again.  
  
"Hush, now, pet. Everything's going to be fine."  
  
Her head burrowed into his chest, her fingers dug into his back, and broken, tearless sobs issued from her dry throat. He pulled her against him tighter still, as if he might crush out her grief with his embrace.  
  
Life is too cruel. One person should not be delt this much pain. Buffy knew her life as a Slayer involved sacrifice, but she had never imagined it would take this form. To lose everything she loved, everyone she held dear--it was a grief too great for any one person to bear. She would offer her own life a thousand times if only she could see her mother's face again or hear Dawn complain about always being left out. She wanted Willow's quiet words of comfort now; she wanted to hear one of Xander's stupid jokes. She would face death this moment, if only Giles was there to speak of duty, to offer his loving support.  
  
All the people that had touched her life--gone--because of her. She had to blame herself. They were dead because she was the Slayer. They had sacrificed their shining futures for her.  
  
What kind of twisted world left her no one but her mortal enemy to comfort her?  
  
And what did it mean that Spike--who had always taken a perverse pleasure in her misfortunes--was now holding onto her for dear life? What did it mean that she believed he was only thing saving her from absolute ruin at this moment?  
  
Nothing made sense anymore. She gave up trying to figure it out and simply let herself feel the steady stroke of his hands, the comfort of his nonsense words. She felt her suffering retreat into hidden corners of her mind, and the world went blissfully blank. She was oblivious of everything around her and blessedly free from pain.  
  
Spike caressed Buffy's back, stroked her long locks, absently. Without warning, he felt her body go limp, and he was suddenly reminded of the vacant, expressionless mask her face had adopted the evening before. Is she trying to slip away again? He lovingly wrapped his hands around her head--his thumbs tracing the lines of her jaw--and pulled her back, slightly, to examine her face.  
  
There they were. Vacant eyes. She was retreating into her head, and Spike was terrified that, if left to her own devices, she might never return.  
  
He did the only thing he could think of. It was irrational and hopelessly absurd, but fear drove men to strange acts.  
  
Tenderly, he kissed the top of her head. Chastely, he worked his way down her face--first her forehead, then her eyelids, her nose, and last, her delicate lips.  
  
Through a fog, Buffy felt a strange sensation. Her mind battered against it, tried to shut the doors to the outside world. It was so nice in here, so blank and free, and she didn't want to face whatever her consciousness was battling against.  
  
Spike could see he was having no affect with his nervous attentions. She was slipping from him, and he refused to let her fall.  
  
"Buffy. Stop it." Her face was a lifeless mask, the pools of her eyes, fathomless pits.  
  
He tried again, louder this time. "Buffy! Wake up! I'm not going to let you run away, Slayer!"  
  
Nothing.  
  
He didn't know if what he was about to do was incredibly brave, or just plain stupid. He was almost certain he would get staked for it, but he didn't care, not as long as it brought his love out of her trance.  
  
He kissed her. No innocent kiss of comfort. No chaste kiss of platonic affection. This kiss captured all the passion and fury he had ever felt for her. It was blinding in its intensity, and even Buffy's defensive wall was shaken by its force.  
  
Buffy felt a tug on her consciousness. She lifted her curtain of denial to peek at its cause. That little tug, and the curtain was ripped apart. Suddenly, she was aware of forceful lips against hers, of a demanding tongue exploring her mouth.  
  
She kissed him back.  
  
Only despair as acute as she now felt it could have driven her to such an insane act, but she didn't care. If he wouldn't let her forget her loss in a mindless stupor, he would make her forget in mindless sex. She needed comfort, and right or wrong, comfort came in the form of his caress at this moment. She snaked her arms under his thin, black shirt and deepened the kiss. She engaged his mouth in a demanding attack.  
  
Spike was taken aback as the woman in his arms passionately returned his kiss. He had intended to shock her to reality, to incite her fury, or at the very least, consciousness. He never expected her to invite his attentions--to return them. He pulled away from her desperate grip and looked into her lust-filled eyes.  
  
"Buffy? What are you doing?"  
  
She paused in her assault, confused. "Me? I thought *we* were doing something, Spike." Her expression was cold. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want to think. He was taking her release away, and she didn't like it one bit.  
  
Spike was at a loss. He couldn't take advantage of her like this--as much as he wanted to. She would never forgive him for it. "Buffy, you're just confused. You're upset. If you were in your right mind, you wouldn't be doing this."  
  
"I'm not confused at all, Spike. I know exactly what I want to be doing. And so do you." She pressed her hips against his and left a blazing trail across his back with her fingertips. "I can see that now. The games you've been playing with me, your sudden compassionate streak. You want me. You can't deny that."  
  
He tried to release himself from her grasp, but she held him tight. "You don't want me. You just want a mindless fuck."  
  
"So?" Her steady answer broke his heart. He didn't want her like this. He didn't want to be used as a means of consolation.  
  
"*So*... I'm not going to let you do something you'll regret later, Slayer." He broke free from her this time, and quickly he was on his feet, bounding away from her.  
  
Buffy was enraged. He would not walk away from her. Again. "I can decide what I will and won't regret, and right now I want nothing more than to finish what you started, Spike." His name was said with malice, furiously spit from her mouth as she stood.  
  
"That's what you want? Are you sure?" A dangerous edge crept into his voice. He stalked toward her, his eyes flashing with fire. Buffy smirked at his threatening words and stood her ground, defiant hands on her hips.  
  
He pounced.  
  
She was prepared for the attack, but offered no defense. If she couldn't have sex, violence ran a close second. Beyond that she just couldn't care. His hand clamped down on her throat as he drove her against a hard, stone wall. The demon ripped through his human mask and blazing yellow eyes stared down on her.  
  
He bared razor sharp fangs in a sinister grimace. "Is this what you want?" His fury was getting the better of him. Why is it always a choice of hitting her or holding her? Somehow, this woman inspired the most infuriating rage and the most unbridled passion in him--sometimes both in the same moment. The malice playing in his eyes sent a sudden spark of worry through Buffy, and she began to doubt the wisdom behind her course of action.  
  
"Be certain about one thing, dearie. I don't play sweet and lovey like the Poof. I'm not your reliable soldier boy. I'm a big, bad man, and you may get more than you bargain for rutting around with me." He was putting on a show now, in defense of his bruised pride. Spike could be a very gentle lover (at least by vampire standards), even before the little metallic bit in his head prevented him from doing any real harm. But if she wanted to treat him like a sex toy, he would make damn-well sure she knew what she was asking for. "This chip may keep me from hurting you, but that doesn't mean anything between us will be pleasant."  
  
Buffy was not so much afraid as disgusted by herself at this moment. To throw herself at Spike. To imagine sex would just wipe the pain away. She groaned at her own childishness. And Spike didn't want her, anyway; he was making that unmistakably clear. She was such a fool.  
  
Spike saw Buffy's once-defiant face fall and realized that he had struck a nerve. Probably that crack about Angel. Brilliant. Bring up the great, tragic love of her life on top of everything else she's dealing with. You're a right wanker, you are.   
  
The hand fell from her throat. His demonic form shifted, and the angular planes of his face smoothed over once again. His remorseful eyes took no satisfaction in Buffy's stricken face.  
  
"Spike...I--" She wanted to apologize, to slink away, to banish the pitiful expression draped over his countenance.  
  
"Listen, luv, you don't have to say anything. I'm sorry for bringing up the wanker--Angel," he amended.  
  
"Spike, why am I...? What's wrong with me?"  
  
The broken question shattered something inside of him. All pretense of anger gone, Spike offered reassuring words. "Oh, Buffy, there's nothing wrong with you. You're just trying to deal with all of this." He stroked the length of her bare arms to quiet her agitation, a gesture that was becoming a little too familiar, he noted with unease.  
  
"No. It's not just that. Everything's turned upside down." She notice his absent-minded strokes against her arms and realized the source of her errant questions. "Why are you being so nice to me?"  
  
Of all the things Buffy might ask, that was the last one Spike was prepared to explain. He couldn't tell her the truth. Could he? No, better to stall.   
  
"Uh...why?" Not his most eloquent moment, but it would do for the present.  
  
"Because you hate me. Enemies, remember? You've spent every moment since you got to Sunnydale plotting my death." Not angry as much as confused, she watched him expectantly.  
  
His hands abandoned her arms, crossing in defense. "That is not fair. I haven't tried to kill you in a very long time." He groaned inwardly at his retort. That sounded a lot better in my head. He avoided her gaze, unsure how to continue.  
  
Quietly, he offered, "And I don't hate you, by the way. You're not too bad--for a human."  
  
Buffy suddenly felt like she was at a Jr. High dance, tugging on her dress while some pimply boy offered awkward compliments. What is going on? Am I in Bazarro Land, or did Spike just say he likes me?   
  
"What are you trying to say, Spike? You want to be my friend?" Sex appeal was one thing, but warm fuzzies was just way too wiggy when dealing with Spike. "Because things don't work that way. You vampire. Me slayer. Remember?" This was too surreal. Spike looked like a wounded puppy, and it was giving her the disturbing urge to reach out and hug him.  
  
"But shaggin' me is alright?" Buffy started to respond, but he cut her off, curtly. "It's all so black and white with you, isn't Buffy? I'm evil because I'm a vampire. No soul, no exceptions, right?" He barreled ahead, adamant in his own defense. "Well, if you hadn't noticed, I've done a bit of changing since you met me, luv. I'm more than just fangy and GRRR these days."  
  
Buffy didn't like where this conversation was going. Vampires aren't good. Vampires don't change. And if they did, then everything she believed about her calling and her high principles was wrong.   
  
She checked her doubts and forcefully replied, "This, from the man who not five minutes ago pinned me against a wall, aching to drain me dry. The only thing that's changed about you is that chip. And last I checked, impotent vampires were still evil vampires." It was more than a little confusing that soft words from the man she had just thrown herself at should so terrify her, but somehow, in all the years she had known him, Buffy had managed to separate her lusty urges from any heartfelt attraction.  
  
"You've not heard a word I've said. This is not about the chip! It's about you! It's about my feelings--" He cut himself off, sickly aware he had gone too far.   
  
Buffy felt panic bubbling beneath the surface of her skin. Suddenly, everything fit. At the same time, everything was horribly wrong. Spike has feelings for me. Spike is being nice because he's attracted to me. Spike thinks he's in l-- No. She wasn't going to finish that thought.  
  
"I'm in love with you, Buffy."  
  
Well that's just great. He had to say it, didn't he?   
  
Buffy's mind screamed NO! Her instincts told her to get away from him, to stake him. Anything to keep him from going further. In spite of all that, she couldn't eject the image of him holding her last night; she couldn't forget the look of concern etched on his face through this entire ordeal. She stood rooted in place, paralyzed and speechless.  
  
"Buffy, I--" He reached out to touch her face and she flinched away from him. "Please. Please just listen to me."  
  
"Spike, I can't--" She couldn't hear another word. Madness crept at the edge of her vision, threatening its absolute conquer. She didn't know what was more insane--that her mortal enemy was declaring his undying love for her, or that she might actually be excited by it.  
  
"I know. Believe me, I know how ridiculous this is. But I can't help the way I feel. It's tearing me up inside. And if you hate me because of this, it just might destroy me." His eyes grew dim with anticipation of her repulsion. He knew it was hopeless, but he had to tell her--at least this once.  
  
"But it would be worth it." He plunged. One final attempt. "I would die this moment for just a chance that you feel the same about me."  
  
With that, Buffy lost the battle. Madness swept over her and a lunatic smile invaded her face. She couldn't deny it any longer. She wanted to be loved by him. She wanted to loose herself in irrational passion-to let her heart, not her mind, guide her through this. Buffy had no words for him; language couldn't possibly convey the flood of emotion overtaking her, so she spoke with action. As Spike warily anticipated the blow of her rejection, Buffy leaned over and did the last thing he ever expected.  
  
She kissed him. Through the roof's grinning hole, sun blossomed down in a vibrant column behind Buffy as she and Spike shared what she considered their first real kiss.  
  
  
TBC...  



End file.
